


A Chance Encounter

by Tangorine



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Unit
Genre: Angst, Chuck!lives to have a threesome, Crossover, Daddy Issues, Double Penetration, I am not sorry, Incest, M/M, Mack is kinda moral-less, Mild BDSM, Rough Sex, Threesome, body double, unapologetic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangorine/pseuds/Tangorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme prompt: Chuck doesn't know how to approach Herc, so he sleeps with someone who looks exactly like Herc while calling him dad (OMC or a crossover with any other role Max Martini has played). Herc finds out. Bonus if they get together in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been watching the Unit, a TV show based on a group of special forces soldiers starring one Max Martini as a big, hard, mean motherfucker named Mack Gerhardt. I cannot get over how hot he is. Just seriously. So uh this is basically pure filth mixed in with bits of angst. I actually had an angstier ending which I cut short because I just couldn't do it, but the kink meme prompt which inspired all this is here: http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=2157645#t2157645

Pre K-day, Mack Gerhardt had considered himself to be a relatively simple man. He had lived an uncomplicated life; serving his country the best he could, serving and fighting abroad so he could earn a decent living in post recessionary America. He had a decent family, a well paying job...and then the kaiju had appeared. Motherfucking kaiju had fucked everything up, rendering the Unit useless, gutting everything. Post K-day, he's got nothing but a dead wife and a two daughters that hate his guts and an alcohol problem the size of his kill list. So he spends his nights hustling pool, drinking himself to death. Kaiju. No one had fucking expected aliens to come from the goddamn sea, and he doesn't even know what the hell he'd been fighting for, back in Iraq and Afghanistan, when humanity was just religion and oil and money. 

In a way, the world was much simpler now, but Mack doesn't know where his place is in a world where there is only one war, one enemy.

So he's nursing a beer, slowly going numb from the pain, Tiffy's pale face staring back at him from underneath that car, when the back of his neck prickles. You learn things as a soldier, and the feeling of being watched never really goes away, not unless you want to live. He scans the room, assessing, and then picks up the pool cue, intending to blow off some steam. He's itching for a fight, almost looking for it, and so he makes himself available, waiting for them to come to him.

It isn't who he expects. He expects a man, maybe ex army, but what he gets is a kid, a twenty year old pissant, barely out of his diapers, looking at him oddly. The kid cannot stop staring at him, and his brow creases in irritation. Well, he can hardly fight a _boy_ , even though he looks like he can take a few punches.

"What do you want." Mack snaps at him, not in the mood for pleasantries.

The kid just wets his lips, and gnaws on them, as if unsure of something, and when just about he's lost his patience, he says,

"Mind if I join you?"

He's an Aussie, voice deep and slightly nervous, and Mack just waves him towards the pool cues. He can only play by himself for so long, and besides, the kid isn’t bad looking, might even serve as a healthy distraction from all of the shit he’s got going on in his life. Distantly, he admires the view when the boy bends over the table, lining up to take a shot. He takes another swig of his beer, lips wrapped around the bottle when he catches the kid sweep a glance at him, darting quickly away and sinking another ball into the side pocket. Interesting.

The boy doesn't look like a prostitute, but he's got all the mannerisms of someone who's begging for a fuck, and Mack just snorts to himself. Why the fuck not. He's been trying to fuck his way through the entire continent, and although guys are a relatively new thing for him, he finds that they can take more. Take more violence, take more pain, take more of his shit. His wife flashes into his mind, and his grip tightens, trying to banish them. He can hear her screams still, crushed under that car, stuck in San Francisco on a family holiday gone deadly wrong.

He studies the boy closely instead. He's cute, upturned nose and light brown hair. Looks like he'd be good in a bar fight, muscles big and strength straining underneath his tight shirt, wearing a stupid sheepskin jacket. He looks like just any punk kid, but there's something different, something that Mack can’t quite place yet.

"So, what's your name kid?" He bends over purposely and whispers into his ear, making him jump and miss his shot.

"I'm no kid." He snaps, an instinctive response, and Mack recognises it, the tone of having to prove something time and time again. But he just laughs at him, staring him down and crossing his arms across his chest.

"No offence, but I'm pretty sure I'm old enough to be your father."

Something odd flashes through the kid's eyes at that, something downright weird, and suddenly he's being handed a pool cue.

"Chuck." He grunts, reluctantly, and Mack has to smile. That's a lot of attitude for someone so young, and he lines up to take a shot, knowing he's being watched. Intently.

"Mack. Nice to meet you _Chuck_." 

They pretend to play pool for a bit, assessing each other. But Mack definitely lets his intentions be known as he strokes up his side, smoothing a large hand down his back, pressing and murmuring when he can. He's in the mood for a good hard fuck, and this one looks like he's up for it, looks like he won't break easy. It isn't until he starts to slip a hand below, callused fingertips just brushing under his shirt, that Chuck pulls his hands away and says hoarsely, 

"Wanna take this somewhere else?"

"Sure. Lead the way."

They check into some dingy motel room, lights flickering on and off, and Chuck wastes no time in stripping, shucking his boots off and peeling his shirt away. Mack appreciates the directness of it, but he lets his hands fall onto his, stilling them and he leans in.

"Shhh. Let me." He undoes Chuck's belt, slowly sliding it through the loops, and he cocks his head up to stare at him, wondering what the kid is thinking. "Give me a word."

The kid looks confused for a second, and Mack almost changes his mind before his expression clears.

"Striker." He says haltingly, and Mack scoffs, yanking his zip down and palming his crotch, smirking when Chuck just bucks and whimpers into him.

"What are you, some kind of Jaeger groupie?"

"S-something like that." Chuck bites out, but then all of his uncertainty, nervousness falls away, and Mack's faced with a cocky smirk that looks smooth and practised. "Look old man, are we here to talk or are you going to fuck me?" 

Well. He can't exactly argue with that. Mack just manhandles him into the bed, throwing him face down, yanking his pants and his briefs down unceremoniously, tangling his legs and hobbling Chuck in the process. He's still fully clothed, but he rather likes the effect, as he stares down at the kid's nicely shaped ass, balls hanging down cutely, like he's got nothing to hide.

Chuck tries to turn around, but Mack just shoves him back down, grabbing Chuck's discarded belt and orders his hands up. He's in a rather sadistic mood today, and although he's not going to hurt him much, he wants him immobile, unable to do anything but sink back onto his cock, to take what he's giving. 

"Look, you can either put your hands up like a good little boy or I'm going to force them up. Your choice."

There's a long pause, and Chuck just holds his hands up, and Mack wraps the belt around them, cinching it tightly and securing it to the headboard. There's absolutely no give, and he leans over the boy, enjoying the full body shiver that incurs, whispering into his ear,

"Grab the headboard and it'll take some strain outta your wrists. I'm not going to be done with you for a long time, and I'd prefer for you to be awake for most of it. Got it?"

Chuck just gasps, a muffled _fucker_ , and Mack steps away, admiring the view. 

"Don't make me gag you." He won't of course, he needs to be able to hear the safe word. But Chuck doesn't know that, doesn't look like he's capable of thinking, head down and cock weeping, dripping into the bed and his clothes. If he had more time, he'd probably dig a little deeper, try to find out a bit more about him so he can really fuck with him, but he leans in anyway, to suck a deep dark crescent into his neck, licking slowly.

What he really wants is to tie a belt around that throat, choke him as he comes, fucking him mercilessly, but he has a feeling there's only so much the kid can take, and he really doesn't want to push him that far. 

"Condoms?"

"Back pocket." Chuck just supplies, groaning as Mack fists his cock, trying to thrust against Mack's tight grip. Mack just uses his other hand to rummage through his clothing, finally finding the wrapper and the lube packet. Huh. It's military issue, he’d recognise the fucking stamp anywhere, the stuff they used to get in the desert when they needed to store water, and in their medkits on long stints abroad. It makes him reassess the boy, look at him differently.

Makes him reassess the whole situation. Soldiers are an entirely different can of worms; most of them are fucked and the others are just downright weird. Half of them have PTSD, and Mack knows he should tread carefully.

"What do you need?"

"Nothing." Chuck grits out, throwing a dark glance back. Mack just climbs onto the bed even further, blanketing his body and fists his hand into his hair, yanking his head back, and growls,

"What. Do. You. _Need_."

"I-I need you to stop talking and to fuck me.” Chuck bites back, and Mack just shrugs. Fair enough.

The condom slides on easily enough, the slick a cold shock on his dick, and he fingers the kid without much foreplay, giving him two and then three fingers in quick succession. Chuck just rocks back, groaning in tandem with his thrusts, and Mack lines himself up and then slides home, encasing his dick in that wonderful tight heat in one smooth motion. It’s obscene, how Chuck takes him, hole swallowing his dick greedily, opening and drawing him in thrust after thrust. He sets a pace that is hard, almost brutal, fingers digging into the flesh of Chuck’s hips and Chuck chokes back a keening moan.

“H-Herc.” He whispers, almost brokenly, and Mack raises his eyebrows at the name, not knowing why it sounds so familiar. Maybe he’s heard it on the news or something, but it doesn’t stop him from pressing his head down, lifting that ass up higher so he get a better angle.

He feels his orgasm rising, balls drawing up in anticipation. Distantly, he’s aware of Chuck coming as well, dick coming practically untouched, and that is just what tips him over the edge, spilling over and he’s coming deep, dick pulsing and throbbing. 

Chuck passes out after that, a sweaty fucked out mess and Mack doesn't have the heart to just leave him there. He undoes the belt, winces a little at the red marks he knows will flower into purple bruises, and rubs the circulation back into them. He usually treats his fucks like shit right after, ditches them with the motel bill or whatever, but Chuck's an army brat, and even though the Unit is dead, a brother will always be a brother.

He sits back and smokes a cigarette, and frowns when Chuck curls up against him, almost like he's trying to climb into him. He tangles a hand in his hair, stroking softly and the boy nuzzles his hand like a cat, affectionate in a way that Mack has a feeling he'd only allow himself to be when at his most vulnerable. It's slightly sad, and cute, and Mack wants to know his story.

He's about to stub his cigarette out and pull Chuck closer to him, maybe for round two, when there is a sudden rapping on the door, knocks precise and sharp, and a frantic voice reaches out through the door,

"Chuck? Are you there? Godamnit Chuck if you are in there you'd better fucking answer before I break down the _goddamn door._ "

Chuck jerks up, and a Mack knows there's something up when a pure look of panic shoots across his face. 

"Oh shit. Oh my god fucking _shit_." He swears, and he all but falls off the bed, scrambling to get his clothes, grabbing them and trying to get them in order. A smell of pure musk and male sex wafts up from him, and Mack tilts his head and gets off the bed, having had enough of this and jerks open the door to look up at the intruder. Someone grabs his shirt collar and pulls him out, a gruff voice shouting,

"Who are you and what the _fuck_ are you doing with my son..."

The man trails off slowly, and for once, Mack is at a loss for words. There's been some freaky shit that's happened because of the kaiju, but he can't for the life of him explain how he's faced with the exact carbon image of himself outside the door. He's maybe a little older than the guy, give or take a few years, but there's no mistaking the resemblance; ginger beard and flat jawline, flinty eyes that look like they could stab someone if they got on their wrong side. The guy takes a look past his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Chuck's dishevelled state, and his expression turns violent, the very same one Mack knows he gets himself when he wants to kill something, someone.

And all so suddenly, everything is so distressingly clear, and Mack has to stop himself from howling with laughter. He knows he's going to get hurt for this, but he can't help himself before saying to the man,

“Boy, does your son have _issues_.”

And promptly, he gets punched, a solid right hook that snaps his head back, pain blossoming down the side of his face. He then gets kneed in the stomach, winding him momentarily when the guy steps over him to grab his son. But Mack has never been one to go down easy, and so he grabs the guy's legs, wrestling him down and getting a few licks in of his own, giving as good as he gets. The man is trained, reacting quickly, and everything goes dangerously blank before Chuck is screaming at them, pulling them apart the best he can. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins, the instinct to fuck and fight pulling at him, and Mack has to thank the kid, because this is the most _alive_ he's felt in years and - 

\- It stops all so suddenly, when the kid catches a punch intended for his father, and he splays out on the floor, groaning in pain, blood gurgling out of his nose.

Shit. Oh fuck.

To his credit, the man lets him go immediately, scrambling up to cradle his son, and Mack just gets up to grab a towel, wetting the fabric with some water in the bathroom before coming back.

"Stay away from him." The man snaps, and Mack just ignores him, batting his hand away to dab the blood away, carding a hand through Chuck's hair, ignoring the glare that is sent his way, eyes like daggers. He's starting to get the feeling he's stumbled into something intensely private, something brewing for years, but he didn't ask for this. 

"Look man, I don't know what your problem is - actually I know exactly what your problem is, but we can just agree that it's definitely not mine?"

The guy just looks away, almost ashamed, thumb stroking his son's cheek, and out of a whim, Mack gets up and raids the minibar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the shelf before swigging three fingers, handing the man the rest. The guy takes it grudgingly, and takes in deep gulps, gasping hoarsely as the spirit hits the back of his throat.

"I'm getting too old to deal with this shit." He gasps drily, and Chuck just looks away, jaw clenched.

"I'm going to just leave and let you guys sort this shit out. But for the love of god Chuck, next time you feel like doing this shit, warn a guy first?"

That gets a strangled grunt of laughter from the kid, and Mack pats him softly on the cheek, ignoring the way his dad still won't let him go, large hands grabbing like he's afraid to stop touching him.

"He seems like a good kid." He says seriously, catching his gaze. "Don't fuck him up."

The older man just looks like he’s been struck, and after a pause that seems too long, the man just nods wearily.

“I won’t.”

And with that, Mack throws a two fingered salute at the two, wanders off with the whisky, feeling like he really should care more, in this world of fucked up misery and alien shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to finish the chapter to my other WIP to do with Chuck in Jaeger Academy when I suddenly started to miss writing porn. Mack/Chuck/Herc threesome to follow soon!

After the guy leaves, there’s an awkward silence that lingers in the air, and Herc can’t stop stroking his son’s cheek, a callused thumb brushing his cheekbone over and over again. He sweeps a glance down to check how he’s doing - he’d taken a pretty nasty blow to the face earlier - and Chuck is looking resolutely away, flushed and stubborn.  


The kid’s embarrassed, Herc thinks. _Good._

He’s hit the drift with him countless times now, and he’s read the reports, the psych evals and he didn’t need the drift or the quacks to explain what his son wanted from him. He’s felt it rising, Chuck’s desire growing, and Herc’s been content to blame it on puberty, to believe that it’s just a phase. But his kid is nearly _twenty_ now, and frankly, there’s no fucking excuse. Because Chuck is only one half of the problem.

Herc knows himself, and ever since he’d even picked it up from Chuck all those years ago, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, tried to put it in the back of his mind. It’s fucking sick, that’s what it is, and Herc has perfected self denial to a tee. But despite his issues, all his denial, the first thought he had when seeing Chuck through that door, looking freshly fucked and slightly dazed wasn’t protectiveness. Herc lets his hand fall to his side and snorts to himself. Great. Just awesome.

“Are we gonna talk?” Chuck mutters sullenly, pushing himself up with a groan to sit up awkwardly. 

“I don’t know son, are we?” Herc says sharply, watching Chuck flinch at his harsh tone. “I mean _Jesus_ , when I told you to get it out of your system I didn’t mean _this_.”

“What’s the problem anyway?” Chuck bites back, angry, defensive and Herc can see those walls being erected already, bristling with embarrassment. “It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. That way you get to keep pretending to yourself and I get something that I want and no one has to actually do anything. You _told_ me to find someone.”

Herc wants to bang his head on the wall in frustration. Trust Chuck to find the only guy in a mile’s radius that he’d object to. Because that man had to be related to him somehow, whether a long lost twin or a cousin, and it figures that as far as the incest thing goes, Chuck clearly has no qualms whatsoever about banging a guy that looks and acts like his dad.

“Did you even consider that people could have seen you at the bar?” 

Chuck just glares back at him, and shoves him a little. Looks like he wants to throw a punch, but then his stance changes and his lips curve into a sharp little smile. He cocks his head, and all but drawls,

“No _dad_ , but that was because I was too busy trying to get him to fuck me.”

His words are like someone doused Herc with a bucket of cold water, and something snaps. 

Herc drags Chuck closer by his collar and shoves him up against the wall, kisses him, mauling him with his mouth. He shoves a leg in between his son’s legs, knocking his feet apart, and fucking grinds into him, violent and forceful and he swears Chuck just keens into his kiss, arms wrapping around the back of his neck. He has one hand on his waist, the other hand gripping his jaw, forcing it down so he can lick into it, rough and violent because he swears if he can’t talk Chuck out of it, he’ll _show_ him, how bad an idea this is. But the rougher he gets, the harder his grip, the more Chuck leans into him and Herc has to break free, pulling apart suddenly, trying to ignore the way Chuck tries to follow him, a strand of saliva breaking between their lips.

Chuck is gasping, eyes bright, and he puts a soft hand over Herc’s mouth, stopping him from saying anything.

“I'll go back to him.” He says, tone deadly serious. “If I can’t have you, then I swear I'll fucking run out this room right here right now.”

He believes him as well. There's an obstinate jut to his jaw, and a slight shake to his voice that Chuck is desperately trying to cover, but since they're actually going to do this, Herc sweeps a look at the bed, noting with distaste at the rumpled sheets and the discarded belt, still hanging from the bedframe. He takes a look at Chuck's wrists, and they're already turning a light shade of green, a clear band of colour, and fuck that. There's absolutely no way he's letting Chuck go back to that guy. No fucking way.

So he takes a step closer, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, mouths a wet little bite on his son's neck, and murmurs,

"What do you want me to do?"

"A-anything." Chuck just gasps, knees weakening. He looks desperate, eager, and he starts babbling, like he's afraid if he doesn't get it all out Herc will leave or something, leave him alone in this shitty motel. "I want to blow you, and then I want you to fuck me and you can-"

Herc cuts him off with another kiss, this time softer. Damned if he'll let their first time be in some cheap ass motel, smelling of stale beer and cigarette smoke. But the kid looks like he's ready to beg for it, vulnerable and needy and Herc figures he'll have to just make do.

He slips a hand under the wasteband of his pants, pressing the pads of his fingers against Chuck's hole, and probing slightly to feel the damage. The kid's well stretched already, some warmed up slick that's still leaking from him, and although it’s been awhile since he’s done this, he doesn’t want to hurt Chuck anymore than he needs to. Chuck tries to sink back onto his fingers, and Herc grabs his hips to keep him in place.

"I'm not fucking you here." Herc grunts, sucking deep crescents into his neck in between his words, savouring the short gasps and the little high pitched sounds he makes. “Get up against the wall.”

Chuck just scrambles backwards until his back hits the wall, sagging against the faded wallpaper, knees wide apart and pants just barely hanging onto his hips. Herc just watches him for a moment, gut curling unpleasantly. Chuck is his son, his precious little baby _boy_ , and when he’d married Angela all those years ago, imagining his future with her and their family, he’d never in a thousand years have thought that it would be as fucked up as this. But undeniably, he can see his features in his boy, Angela’s too, and there’s no mistaking the curling tension that’s beginning to rise low in his belly, the unmistakable feeling of arousal.

He steps closer, unable to help himself, and unzips his pants, drawing the zip down slowly. He takes himself out of his briefs, stroking slowly as his cock hardens, and he sees Chuck staring, licking his lips almost unconsciously. It doesn’t take much for him to kick Chuck’s feet even wider apart, stepping in close to rub his cock along his hip, leaving a pale strand of precum smeared near his navel.

“Is this what you wanted?” Herc murmurs, watching Chuck shiver. “Did you sleep with that guy just because you couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to have this?”

“F-fucking shut up and do something.” He snaps in response, flushing right to his roots.

“I’ll do something when I’m good and ready. Take off your pants.”

Chuck obeys immediately, yanking his pants down around his ankles along with his briefs, not even bothering to step out of them. Herc just grabs both of their cocks in one large hand and starts to stroke, rubbing slowly. Chuck makes the most delicious of sounds, whimpering into his touch, and Herc has to lean against the wall with his other arm, bracketing himself and Chuck.

“Fuck me, please.” Chuck begs, eyes wide and beseeching in the dim light, long eyelashes fluttering shut as Herc twists on a downstroke, just the way he likes it.

“I told you, I’m not fucking you here. You want something in your ass, then finger yourself.”

Chuck just groans even louder, completely wrecked, but he obeys and reaches behind himself, sliding a few fingers into his hole. He starts fucking himself on those fingers, leaning into whisper fucking sinful things into Herc’s ear, breathing dirty promises for next time and Herc loses all control and starts to rut in earnest, rubbing their cocks between their hands, their stomachs.

It only takes a few more strokes for Chuck to come, spurting everywhere, and Herc just uses it as extra slick to smooth the way for himself. He groans when he sees that Chuck is still fingering himself through it all, through the aftershocks and all, and Herc pulls away reluctantly to jerk himself off quickly, coming all over Chuck’s bared stomach and his stupid sheepskin jacket. Afterwards, there’s a moment where they don’t speak, just staring awkwardly at each other as their breathing starts to even out. Chuck (or maybe it was Herc) has managed to come so hard that there’s come in his _hair_ , and Herc rubs it away with a thumb, wiping it away like an afterthought.

They should probably talk about this. No, scratch that, they fucking _need_ to talk about this. 

And then Chuck just ducks his head slightly, as if trying to hide the smug grin that’s spread across his face, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“We’re fucking in Striker the first chance we get.” He says, completely unrepentant, tucking himself back into his briefs with a wince. And then his lips curl into a small smile. “That is, as long as you can still get it up.”

Herc has to shake his head, completely speechless. That fucking _brat_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic was originally going to end with Chuck dead and Herc and Mack meeting up again and screwing each other whist crying manly tears of angst together. But then I changed my mind. Everyone lives. Also I think I have forsaken writing that makes sense for just graphic smut. POVs slipping everywhere and anywhere in this one. :P

Chuck knows it’s going a be a difficult day the moment they get stopped at the hotel doors, security guards staring openly at them. Since closing the breach, they haven’t had a moment’s rest; interviews and magazine shoots and fucking PR shit that makes his skin crawl. He gets it, they’re heroes. He enjoyed it back then; before he’d nearly gotten blown up by a nuke and all he wants to do these days is forget about it and retire back to their little apartment, hidden away from the rest of the world.

They’re in the US for some military conference or something, but Herc says it’s just a dressed up excuse for an all expenses paid party, and that’d be great if they hadn’t been attending these parties for half a year now.

“Invitations please.” The security guard asks, looking oddly at Herc, and his dad just stiffens slightly next to him, wary of the scrutiny. There’s an awkward pause, and the guard continues. “I’m sorry to be rude sir, but didn’t you already come through recently?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Herc just grunts, and Chuck has to snort slightly. His dad’s not in a good mood, jetlagged and cranky from all the travelling, and Chuck manages to dig out two wrinkled looking invitations from his jacket pocket.

“Sorry sir, my mistake.” The guy just bows, and Chuck rolls his eyes when Herc shoulders past, eager to get to their hotel room. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but be nice.” He murmurs into his ear when they’re alone. Their hotel room is large, two double beds and the best frills the hotel has to offer two Jaeger pilots who saved the world. It’s extravagant, but as far as they’re concerned, completely useless.

They get changed into their formal wear quickly, and Chuck takes much longer because he’s too busy sneaking glances at Herc and the way he loops his cufflinks through his shirt buttons, the way his uniform stretches out across his wide chest. Chuck’s forgone his military uniform for a tux instead, but Herc just leans in close to nuzzle at his neck when he’s putting gel in his hair, large hands slipping up under his jacket to slide up his front to his neck. 

Despite himself, Chuck shivers, and slaps the hands away reluctantly.

“We cannot be late to this. Stacker will kill us.”

“So? Mako and Raleigh are here too - I’m sure they’ll be better entertainment.” Herc emphasises his words with another trailing hand, this time reaching under his belt, and Chuck steps away firmly before anything else can happen. It isn’t often Herc’s like this, and although he’d love to make good on it, he knows they really can’t risk offending the brass. They’re the fucking guests of _honour_ for chrissakes, and Chuck just presses a quick kiss on the corner of his dad’s jaw.

“Later.” He promises, and Herc just smiles.

*

Later turns out to be much much later.

There’s a fucking speech; more speeches, and a presentation ceremony, and then there’s a main course or five, and about halfway through Chuck is close to getting on the other side of tipsy. He’s got a beer in one hand and he’s chatting amiably to Mako, who looks stunning in a deep red number and everything is bright and vivid from the low thrum of alcohol running through his veins. Until Herc digs his hand into his shoulder, and Chuck snaps his attention back to look at the direction of his gaze, and it almost feels like the floor drops out from under him.

“I-is that who I think it is?” Chuck gasps, and Mako looks up and almost drops her wine glass in shock.

“Herc - that...isn’t Scott is it?” She asks quietly, eyes squinting to see more clearly.

“No.” Is the terse reply, and Chuck has to hide his grin by taking another drink. He knows exactly what his old man is thinking, and everyone is suddenly whispering, aware of the uncanny resemblance between the two soldiers. “He’s...my cousin.”

Bullshit. But nevertheless, Chuck’s eyes light up and Herc sighs.

“No.” He growls. “I know what you’re thinking and _no_.”

At this point, Mako looks thoroughly confused, and it’s great timing when an inebriated Raleigh drags her off to the dance floor, slurring his words adorably under his low pitched drawl. To think Chuck hadn’t liked the guy.

“But it’ll be fun.” He whines, and Herc just silences him with one look. He looks absolutely adamant about this, and Chuck just hands him a beer, leaning into whisper slyly in his ear. “Think about it. Wouldn’t it be fun to have two cocks fucking into me at once, making me beg for it over and over again?”

“ _Jesus._ ” Herc groans, and he sweeps a look to the other side of the room, catching a glimpse of his look alike, the man sat sprawled out in his chair, a pretty brunette in his lap. He’s murmuring something into her ear but his gaze is fixed firmly on Chuck, and an intense wave of jealousy hits him, possessive and unyielding. But as much as he hates to admit it, they kind of owe the guy.

“Go upstairs and get ready. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Chuck bounces out of his chair and grins, throwing up a two fingered salute as he saunters off back to their hotel room.

*

It doesn’t take much for Herc to get Mack to join them. In fact, the very moment he sees Herc weaving through the dance floor in his direction, the guy stands up and whispers a not very sincere apology to the girl in his lap, and she slaps him before storming off. She’s absolutely gorgeous, dress riding low down her back, and Herc tilts his head to stare at the guy, lips twisted into a half smile.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“Depends.” Mack grunts, shirt unbuttoned and bow tie hanging loosely around his neck. “Was hoping you were coming with a better offer.”

Herc has to stop for a moment, because the sheer _audacity_ of it offends him, but before he can bite out a response a small, curly haired man stumbles into the table, smiling brightly at the two.

“Whoah, didn’t see that table there.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “Mack, why are there two of you?”

“Nothing to worry about Betty,” the Mack says affectionately, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Just me and my cousin have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Righhht.” He drawls drunkenly, and no longer interested and wanders off. Herc tries to say something, the words sticking in his mouth, because seriously, how do you say something like: _my son want a threesome with you because you look like family?_

“So, Jaeger pilots huh? Didn’t realise I fucked the other half of the famous Aussie crew.”

“Shutup.” Herc scowls, not liking the way his face is reflected in those flinty blue eyes. The guy is an asshole, but for some god forsaken reason Chuck wants the both of them. At the same time. He’d registered the sharp intake of breath the moment both he and Chuck had seen him, the slight flush that had crawled up his neck, and although he hates the idea of someone with his hands on his son, he can’t deny he doesn’t find what Chuck’s laid out there entirely unappealing.

“So how is this going to work?”

“Everything I say goes. Nothing like the shit you pulled with the belt last time.”

Mack looks like he wants to object, but instead he just raises an eyebrow as if he’s surprised that Herc even _remembers_ that.

“Lead the way.”

*

Chuck waits with baited breath as he hears the keycard slide the door unlocked. It had taken longer than he had expected it to, but he guesses they can’t be too careful, not when half the world’s press are watching their every move, desperate to catch a glimpse of the private lives of the Hansens. If they only knew.

He’s stretched himself already, one hand braced on the bathroom counter, the other prepping himself with copious amounts of lube, and his ass is already feeling pleasantly sore. He’s kneeling naked on the floor, hands in his lap like a good obedient little boy, but he keeps his gaze up when the door opens. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of this, and he grins when two sets of footsteps slow down as they see him kneeling on the floor.

“Jesus, you sure have him trained well.”

Mack starts to circle around him, bring a hand to stroke slightly at his cheekbone, fingertips trailing calluses across his face, his lips.

“How’re you doing kid? Long time no see.”

Chuck just smiles and tilts his head, and all of a sudden Herc is on his other side, unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn’t look very happy, mouth flattened into a grim line, and Chuck has to reassess his options. He’d thought he’d be able to swing the whole two dicks thing past him, and it’s sort of a success because Mack _is_ in their hotel room, but he knows he needs to up his game.

He shuffles over to his dad, not quite crawling, and noses at his crotch, his intentions quite clear. But then he yanks on Mack’s pants, and gets them standing together, and it’s with a wicked smirk that he sits back, looking up at their identical expressions, torn between aroused and furious that Chuck has stopped right there.

“I wonder if even your dicks are the same length.” He says suddenly, and even Herc can’t help but snort at that, exchanging a contemplating glance with Mack.

“I don’t know you brat.” He says, unzipping his slacks and stepping out of them. “Wanna get a closer look?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t want you ancient bastards to get overexcited. I want to make this last you know.”

There’s a silence that lasts a long few seconds, and Mack glances at Herc with a dangerous smile.

“Mind if I teach him some manners?”

Herc just smiles, just as dangerously and Chuck’s gut sinks with trepidation. Insult a guy’s dick and his staying power, and it’s like they take it as a personal affront.

“Please do. Never could get through to him.”

*

By the time Mack is done with him, Chuck is gasping, blinking back moisture from his eyes as another hard smack lands on his ass cheek. His hands are fucking massive, and he’s splayed out over his lap, erection digging painfully into his belly as he squirms. Well he tries to squirm, but Herc’s right behind him, hands holding him completely still.

His face is red and flushed, and suddenly the slaps stop, for a questing hand to smooth and stroke his burning skin. It curves around his ass, and slips one finger down his crack, to touch the wetness there briefly.

“You wanna do the honours?” Mack asks, and Herc just shakes his head, placing a soft kiss on one buttock and then slapping the other one again. Chuck groans when Mack moves to sit up against the headboard, legs splayed and he gathers Chuck up into his arms, pressing his back flush against him. 

“Come on boy, lift up a little.” 

Chuck whines deep in his throat, and he lifts himself up, trembling, so that Mack can slot his dick in, sitting down with a sigh as it slides in easily. There’s no stretch, only a vague sense of fulfillment, and Mack buries his mouth into the juncture of his neck, thick arms clasped around his waist; keeping him still, cementing him. He tries to squirm on his dick, tries to shift, but those arms are iron tight and there’s a moment of distraction when Herc yanks his legs wide apart and starts to lick up his length, sucking deep and hard.

He can feel the blunt fingers pressing into his rim, questing and searching, but he can’t move at all as Mack and Herc keep him pinned between them. He can feel the stubble against his neck, his thighs, and it’s just _not fucking fair_ that he can’t move at all, ass cheeks burning against the hard muscles of Mack’s thighs. He can feel his length pressed up against his prostate, just right there, but he needs _more_.

“You two are f-fucking bastards. I hate you.” He growls, and it’d be much more convincing if it didn’t come across sounding like a sob, and Mack just shushes him soothingly. He strokes his stomach softly, and leans over his neck to watch Herc’s bobbing head.

“Aww, think we can make him cry?” Mack’s voice is a low rasp against Chuck’s nerves, and he shivers violently in response.

The corner of Herc’s lips grin around his cock - Chuck can feel it - and he just grunts in assent, the vibration dragging a little shriek out of Chuck’s throat. Mack brings a hand up to clutch at the base of his neck - not tightly, but enough to keep his head immobilised. He can’t thrust, he can’t move, and there’s no reprieve when Herc abandons all pretenses and starts to hum tunelessly, tongue flicking up and down in a sharp staccato rhythm before Chuck blows his load with no warning, chest rising up and down frantically.

Herc pulls off immediately, and starts smearing Chuck’s release into Chuck’s stomach, before bringing a cum splattered hand to Chuck’s mouth.

“Open wide.” He says tonelessly, though his eyes soften when Chuck does what he’s told, mouth opening to lap tentatively at the tips of his fingers. Mack’s cock pulses violently at the sight, and it’s kinda unfair that these two kinky fuckers will have spoiled sex for him permanently with other people. Chuck’s ass is twitching violently against his dick, and he exchanges a look with the older Hansen that suggests that maybe it’s time.

Herc on the other hand, just shakes his head.

“Are you kidding me?” Chuck slumps between them, completely boneless, but his voice is hoarse with indignation. 

“Wait for your turn.” He emphasises his words by jabbing two fingers up against Mack’s dick, and Mack is taken by surprise when Herc grabs the back of his neck with his other hand to pull him into a hard kiss. It’s fucking weird, that’s what it is, kissing someone with the same jaw and the same nose, but Chuck seems to be enjoying it, a broken little moan escaping as he twists his head violently to try and catch everything. The kiss leaves Mack breathless, hard and yearning, and he starts to laugh when he can feel Chuck getting hard again, tip of his cock just about brushing the edge of his hand.

Mack takes pity on the poor boy and thrusts up a little, and the look that Chuck shoots him is so fucking _grateful_ that even Herc starts to look a little guilty. He presses an apologetic kiss to Chuck’s brow instead and strokes his cheek with his thumb, and then aligns himself so the tip of his cock just presses up against his rim, blunt and insistent.

And then after a pause that feels like forever, he slides home, slowly as he can without hurting him, the three of them groaning in tandem when finally, everything is tight enough, hot enough. It’s fucking perfect, and Chuck can feel everything in his head settling down, the two dicks inside of him, thrusting shallowly. It’s only slightly painful, but he welcomes the stretch, lying limply between the two as they rut into him. He doesn’t think he has enough strength to sit up, but Mack’s arm around his waist keeps him grounded, and Herc brings his mouth up to kiss him slowly, deeply, and Chuck feels claimed, like he belongs. 

He doesn’t even feel it when the two come inside him, one setting off another, only focused on the feeling of his own orgasm, dick spurting weakly as Herc grunts into his shoulder, nipping the muscle there gently.

When they slip out of him, Chuck immediately curls up into a ball, quiet and tired as he closes his eyes. He’s still breathing hard, and he feels two sets of arms wrap around his waist, two sets of bodies pressed against him.

“We should probably clean him up.” A voice whispers, but Chuck just shakes his head and tries to duck his head into a hard chest, exhaling softly when a hand starts to stroke his hair. There’s a quiet sigh in response, and the bed shifts slightly as someone draws the covers up, blanketing the three of them in a soft duvet. 

“Let’s wait a little while.” The other voice responds, but Chuck’s already asleep, consciousness slipping away into calm.


End file.
